The Universe is Rarely so Lazy
by Whatiflove16
Summary: Molly is married stuck in loveless life. Sherlock is lonely and has always regretted that night. Mycroft is there and he knows all. SEQUEL to Broken Connection. M rated for later on maybe. I'm sorry the summary is awful.
1. Chapter 1

**Here is the first chapter in the sequel! I love you all who read it, I plan on updating at least once a week, but anyway I'm so excited for this. Leave your reviews I enjoy reading them all!**

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><p>"Molly", came the concerned voice of Tom. He called to her through the bathroom of their honeymoon suite. Tomorrow they would be leaving for Italy, and then moving to Scotland. Tom convinced her to leave with him a couple months ago. She hadn't even told her friends until the practice for the reception. They of course were shocked, and even though Sherlock wasn't present Molly was certain he knew. She sighed and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were still slightly red from her cry just a few minutes ago while she'd been changing. Sherlock hadn't even shown up to her wedding.<p>

It was a nice ceremony. The church was lovely and everyone was charming sitting so perfect in the little pews. When Molly made her entrance on her brother's arm they turned politely and looked upon her with serene faces. Everyone was do happy, but she was just so sad. Behind the thick veil she wore Molly smiled slightly, but her eyes pleaded to anyone who cloud see to stop the wedding. All it would take was a single objection from one person that with each step became more and more needed in her desperate mind. Throughout the process she snuck glances at the doors and in the crowds to see if he had come. Right before their kiss her eyes darted to the firmly closed doors she entered. No one noticed.

"Molly." Tom sounded irritated.

Molly jumped. "Sorry", she called back." I'll be out in a minute.

Tom began drumming his fingers impatiently in the night stand. Molly heard and redoubled her efforts to appear fine and put together. When she exited the bathroom all of the little desire she had to be intimate with Tom dissipated. She threw him a false cheerful smile and snatched one of the robes from the closet and tied it tightly around.

"What are you doing that for?"

Molly sighed and offered him a tired smile."I'm sorry I'm just not feeling up to it today that's all."

"But Molly it's our wedding night."

Tom reached from his position on the bed and pulled her down so she sat on the edge. Molly closed her eyes and tried to breathe as he gently rubbed her arms and shoulders. After some time he relented the soothing tactic and began to kiss her collar bone. He traveled up her neck and was nearing her mouth when Molly eased herself away.

"Not now Tom."

She made to rise up but he was having none of it. The strong tanned hands gripped her dainty wrist in a tight clasp. She was caught. A slight tug ought to have released her but like movement in a sand trap she was pulled back. Molly turned and looked into Tom's hungry eyes.

"Come here."

"No."

She tried to pull away again but was met with much more force than anticipated. Thrust onto the bed Tom lay on top of her stroking the side of her face and trailing down her arm before claiming the hand once more. The contrast of his heat to her chill caused a shiver to pass which Tom mistook as desire. The thin lips curled into a wolffish grin and Molly sensed his predatory eyes rake over her body. This didn't feel right. Tom wasn't in his right mind at the moment. A quick whiff told her all she needed to know about his sobriety. Caution and precision were needed for this now. Molly couldn't risk upsetting him but at the same time she needed to be affirmative. Great.

Tom bent his head and began to kiss her. Stunned by the sudden attack in the middle of her mental plan Molly froze. He could feel her hiding from him and trying to lock herself within that mental safe which protected so much. The force increased. He was begging her to love him in the way he wanted, the lie he was craving just for tonight. Molly felt guilty. A curtain of shame descended upon her twisting reality into a crueler place. Here she saw everyone's thoughts and felt the revolution directed at her. Poor Tom they seemed to echo. Molly is just using him to make Sherlock jealous. Molly doesn't love him. Tom doesn't know how awful she is. Poor Tom, poor Tom, poor Tom. Even she herself began to pick up their solemn chant as it's volume rose higher and higher. The noise in her head was too strong and it needed to be lowered.

Hesitantly she kissed him back. Their lips moved against each other in a forced intimacy, a lie. In her mind the entire night she thought of Sherlock. She still loved him and doubted that she'd ever stop, but she couldn't do this again. Being so close to him after those years, that night, could be just enough to rip her facade of happiness apart. This was the life date had delivered and she would have to be content. Between Ireland and London lay thousands of miles. Molly had to stay with Tom and keep up the illusion lest she fall back into the heart breaking cycle with herself chasing after the dream that was never really possible to begin with. She would be loyal to a loveless marriage for better or for worse and give all that she had to everyone but him. He had lost that chance. With her consent finally to an aggressive Tom Molly cemented her vow to never go back to being unloved by him again.


	2. Chapter 2

This takes place the night of Molly's wedding.

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><p>There was a leak. Something was creeping into Sherlock's mind palace, he could feel it. Feel it? Now that's strange. This invincible had been designed for war. Every room was cold and void of as much emotion as possible. Science and reason took their respective places in the walls like the lining of electric wires. They stimulated the various chambers of the palace, but now something was wrong. The clear white that used to illuminate the spaces turned a duller yellow and began to flicker. Sherlock sensed a weight growing in his chest as he observed the subtle changes taking place. Naturally there were no cleaning closets or generator rooms since the palace could keep order on it's own which left him hopelessly lost. Sherlock's mental self sighed dramatically and began pacing, and practically yanking out his hair in agitation.<p>

"Woof!"

Sherlock abruptly halted and spun around. There at the end of the plain corridor was a brown blob which immediately bestowed a smile on his strained face. Unconsciously his knees started to bend and he leant down and patted his trousers in a familiar calling pattern. A sharp quick whistle blew from his lips and the blob moved. It sprinted by all the scientific rooms leaving a warm trail behind. With this creature came an innocence long forgotten by the consulting detective. Overhead Sherlock failed to notice the flicker of the lights becoming more frequent. Currently there was a forty pound dog on him, planting "kisses" upon his nose and cheeks.

"Red Beard", Sherlock laughed heartily.

The last time he had seen his dog was at the tender age of eleven. This were the dark ages of his adolescence. Although his peers still remained mentally inferior they had grown and surpassed him even then in human emotion. The tormenters of his youth knew exactly where to prod at him to extract the most humiliating reactions. When ever he'd retaliate with an embarrassing deduction of his own the prats would laugh at him. It was only later that he realized they had no idea what he had said to them.

Red Beard had been a constant throughout his whole life. Not even Sherlock's mother and father could penetrate his massive emotional blockade that held in his emotions. Red Beard had been different. He was the only exception to this rule which was why into Red Beard he cried after a particular ruff day of school. Red Beard got Mycroft off his back when he was being condescending, and became the best friend Sherlock had ever had up until John. It was wonderful to see a shadow of his past wandering about through the complex insanity trap that was his brain. The wet kisses suddenly stopped as the pressure on his abdomen receded. Sherlock raised his head to look at Red Beard trotting away.

"Red Beard", he called forcefully. The dog didn't break a stride. Sherlock leapt up and stumbled round the corridor after his friend. Through wings and wings the two traveled. Some of the rooms they happened upon Sherlock hadn't seen in years. Mentally he added them to his lengthy list of priorities.

Eventually the patterns and architecture became un recognizable to him. Read Beard carried on in his confident manner with Sherlock following behind as if the roles were reversed. He stopped to inspect an interesting sculpture of thoughts and was thoroughly immersed in his deducing when he realized that Red Beard had rounded the corner and disappeared. Sherlock left his mental exercise and ventured down the dog's last known where abouts.

The hall was a dead end. At the back of the thin passage was a door. Sherlock cautiously walked over and discovered that it was the front of him and John's flat. The match was exact even down to the angles knocker that Mycroft subconsciously fixed whenever he visited. This door was locked shut. Sherlock was about to turn the knob when it morphed into the black door belonging to Ms. Hudson. On the other side he swore that the sweet aroma of her specialty tea could be smelt. Once again the door changed. This time it was old and regal and could only be described as Mycroft's. Then came Greg's blue and finally a pale yellow colored door with a brass knob. It was Molly's, and unlike the rest her door was slightly ajar.

When Sherlock opened the door a cool breeze hit his face. Laid out before him like a scene in a movie was the exact recreation of that night. The last time he saw Molly. Everything down to the song that was playing as he left was there. It caused a painful tug in his chest as he thought of her. The scene changed to an earlier memory of them together chatting in the morgue over various diseases while cutting up brains. Some blood had gotten on Molly's goggles and Sherlock grabbed a towel and gently cleaned it. His fingers lingered for a few moments and she blushed. He suddenly saw a bit of golden light ruminate from their bodies and emerge as a sphere. It swooped in elegant circles like that of calligraphy before exiting through the crack in the door. Suddenly it hit him.

"Molly", he breathed.

She was what was messing with his palace. The oddness suddenly made sense although he couldn't understand why it affected him so until a sound thump to the back of his head made him turn around to face the angry eyes of John.

"You're upset she's left you tit."

"Upset I'm not upset." Sherlock scoffed at John's frown."I'm happy for her."

"No, no you're not. You were afraid that night to admit your feelings and now she's gone and you miss her."

"He's right Sherlock."

Sherlock spun around at the sound of his brothers voice. He groaned.

"Oh not you too."

"I told you Sherlock caring is not the advantage. Look what it's done here." He gestured with a wide sweep of his umbrella." You're loosing control of your feelings they're all getting out because of her."

"She does NOT control my feelings", Sherlock stated. Mycroft smiled toothily athis baby brother.

"It seems that you've got a choice to make brother mine."

"A choice? What choice?"

John circled round to stand next to Mycroft. "The choice of whether you want to stay away from Molly and hide from your feelings or prove you actually are human and try to win her back because this might be your only chance before she leaves."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock's conflicted expression with a hint of pity in those cold eyes." I told you Sherlock don't get involved."

...

Sherlock found himself outside of Molly's door with a key in his hand. The choice of locking her away or setting her free. Sherlock looked around. The feelings he hat bored for Molly were illogical and confusing ones he did not know what to do about. They were causing an overload and he just couldn't handle the sentimentality of it all right now. Shakily he edged his hand towards the lock and placed the key in. He stood there like that for a long time until a small, dainty hand covered his own.

"Woman", he greeted slightly surprised.

She smiled seductively and gently pried Sherlock's fingers from the key still in the lock.

"It's okay", she said in a slightly sad voice," I'll do it."

Sherlock stepped back and watched as she locked the door and offered the key to him. It was all too tempting. Sherlock pulled a mask of indifference over himself as he refused the key dangling between her fingertips.

"Destroy it." Sherlock turned and left the recesses in his mind giving Irene the duty of guard outside of his doors. She watched him leave. Once he disappeared around the corner she clutched the key in her hand before placing it snuggly in her black laced bra. She patted it affectionately before turning to face the empty corridor. Her lips parted into a knowing smile as she mused to herself.

"In case he gets hungry."


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHORS NOTE TWO THINGS YOU MUST KNOW...**

**1. THE MERRY GO ROUND IS NOT A CAROUSEL IT IS ONE OF THOSE METAL THINGS IN THE PARK THAT EIGHT PEOPLE SIT ON AND HOLD THE METAL THINGS THAT CONNECT IN THE CENTER SO WHEN THEY SPIN THEY DONT FALL OFF. **

**2. THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER THE MIND PALACE CHAPTER. HE WAS IN THE PARK ON THAT SWING WHEN HE IS IN THE PALACE. THIS IS HIM "LETTING GO" OF MOLLY.**

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><p>At such a late hour on a week day you'd expect to find the neighborhood playgrounds vacant. No child much less and adult would be caught dead on a swing lightly leaning back to gaze at the stars. Of course if you've never met Sherlock Holmes you'd think that, but there are people such as he that would walk through and linger long past when all the children were gone. It was not a habit he had developed on his own, usually the vacant swing next to him was occupied by someone else. A little known fact about Molly Hooper was that she suffered from insomnia which often found her taking on extra shifts at the morgue to keep her occupied. Sherlock used to think that she worked so late to keep up with her rent. It wasn't until he spotted her walking one night while he was on one of his side cases did he pause and take interest.<p>

...

Sherlock glanced down at his watch and frowned. 12:23 A.M. Ordinary people would be in bed on a Tuesday so why was Molly Hooper walking alone on the streets of London, and more importantly where was she going. Moments like these almost caused one to believe it was fate that brought Molly across his path that night, but Sherlock was not that type of man. Something hit his nose and he strained his eyes to catch a look at what he discovered was a white snowflake melting on his nose. Tiny ones began their descent onto the street distracting the consulting detective for a moment. It was only when a black cabbie zoomed by did he break from his trance, realizing he had let the politician he was following slip from his sight. Oh well he would try again tomorrow night.

Sherlock turned to watch as Molly rounded the corner across the street. Scowling at his odd desire to follow Sherlock jogged across the road and trailed behind her a safe distance. Even from behind he could see the difference in the pathologist. She appeared relaxed and confident judging by her brisk and steady pace. It was very unlike the Molly Hooper he'd been accustomed to. Strangely enough Sherlock found that he was pleased by the change. All throughout London they journeyed. Molly was more knowledgable of the city than he gave her credit for as she led him down side streets and shortcuts through mazes of alleyways. At last the pace slowed as they came to a small park behind some decaying old Victorian houses. The buildings hiding them were unoccupied and worn down, but the park itself looked up to date and taken care of. Sherlock mentally showered his brain for information on this place but found that he could conjure nothing. Surprisingly this was all new to him.

Hesitantly Molly pressed on the black iron gates pausing momentarily as they squeaked before continuing to push her way in. Much like a shadow Sherlock slunk in right on her heels silently before the gates could close. He was surprised to see inside behind the tall bushes a relatively peaceful scene. It was small and quaint but still had an air of sophistication with the precariously arranged flowers and paths. Some of the green was even enclosed with short fences. The snow still quietly fell on the bare trees and decaying plants covering their imperfections so that they sparkled in the night. Molly began expertly weaving through the different trails passing picnic areas, a big playground, and even a lake. Indeed the park was a hidden gem from society and the innocence of it and Molly seemed to blend perfectly. Finally the perimeter hedges were visible again and Sherlock deduced that they had reached the end of the park.

It had confounded him greatly when Molly walked to the bushes and parted the thick branches with ease before stepping through and having them appear as immaculate as they did before. She may hear him but discreetness be damned he had to follow. Sherlock briskly walked to where he saw Molly moments before and pushed the bushes in the same fashion. Like before they parted easily and Sherlock could detect a lining of glass attached to the other side. Pondering how odd it was to have a glass door covered by the greenery, he stepped through and allowed the entrance to shit silently behind him.

In a word what he came upon was different, but different in a good way. A canopy of trees sat above him with weaving branches that danced around each other like strings in a weave. The air was warm and the flowers bursting with a subdued color that oddly fit the place. Sherlock realized that he was in a public green house.

"What are you doing Molly?"

She turned to glance behind her not showing an ounce of shock at his sudden appearance. "Oh hello Sherlock", she said evenly. Sherlock stared at her back curiously before walking round the swing and seating himself down next to her. She glanced at him before returning her gaze to the falling snow. Sherlock cleared his throat.

"This cold air will kill the plants you've been tending to you know." He eyed her expecting a question to bubble out in her normal flustered manner but she just frowned.

"It's suffocating in here, they need to breathe." To prove her point Molly rose from the crafty rusted metal and began unhooking all the windows and doors until the greenhouse resembled a jungle gym more than anything else. She turned to face a puzzled Sherlock and smiled faintly bringing some of the normal Molly back."everyone needs to sleep sometimes", she stated.

"Then why are you here", he countered.

She shrugged, her smile faltering."Same as you I suppose, I can't." Sherlock stood with his hands clasped behind him studying her. Maybe it was the exhaustion that was only now becoming evident but she accepted the scrutiny with barely a waver.

"You have insomnia", he stated. She nodded and waited for his other deductions. After a moments pause the observations came pouring out."You were never diagnosed but you know you have it judging by the fact you don't have any medication for it. On average you get three no two hours of sleep but can still function properly due to caffeine you consume in the morning. You've never been able to hold you liquor so a little goes a long way. You work late to avoid staying awake in bed. Tonight you couldn't get a shift therefore", he gestured to the frosted garden,"you came here. Although I must admit I have no idea why."

Molly began pacing around some of the flower displays finally lying down on a merry go round decorated with poppies and small daisies. Her body was diagonal so as to avoid the cool metal bars. She gestured to the opposite side and sherlock obliged by lying down in the same fashion so that both of their heads just peaked out from behind the pole at the center with meticulously woven vines. They laid on their backs and let the receding storm hit them with light snow flakes.

"When I was a little girl this was a real park. It was just this small enclosure and my dad and I used to come here everyday."

"What happened."

The wistful look Molly held dissipated and she sighed."Progress. There was all this land from the old estate and it was done over. A new playground was built and people stopped walking the distance to get over here. When my father died I stopped coming, but I suppose we all gravitate to the people and place we love most. I came back and found it off much worse than this. I was able to contact the city and let them allow me to turn it into a public green house. The money's rubbish, but I did what I could and you know?" Molly turned to look at him with warm eyes."I think it turned out alright, perfectly okay."

"So you come here when you can't sleep, to be closer to your father?"

She nodded,"that and I'm at peace here."

Sherlock frowned and made to get up."I apologize, I must be in the way."

Molly reached out with her hand and grasped his coat. He looked down at her troubled face, and he could almost see the scared little girl that came to the park alone after her father's death. He hesitated."Please", she whispered,"stay."

And he did. Together they stared up at the night sky and talked about a number of things. Topics he himself wouldn't even share with John sprang to the conversation and she listened without judgement. They talked until the change of pressure on Sherlock's coat told him Molly was no longer listening. He turned to see a passed out pathologist with a lingering smile upon her lips. Gently sherlock lifted her hand and placed it on the cool metal. He stood and went around the green house shutting all the windows and doors so the warmth could collect in the space again. Molly still lay asleep and Sherlock bent down and scooped her tiny figure up. She fidgeted in his grasp but then snuggled into his coat and sighed contently. Sherlock walked out of the greenhouse and into the cold air. Down the winding paths he retraced their steps hours before and exited the park where he located the main road and hailed a cab to Molly's flat. Outside of her door he still held Molly bridal style and he felt for the spare key she'd given him after the fall to her apartment. After fishing it out he quietly entered and made his way to her bedroom where he deposited her sleeping form onto her yellow and red sheets. After pausing for a moment he leant down and kissed her forehead.

"Pleasant dreams Molly Hooper"

...

A buzz vibrated from inside Sherlock's coat pocket and he pulled out his phone. It was a text from John alerting him that he'd left the reception.

_What is the purpose of informing me of this? —SH_

_I thought you'd want to know.  
>—JW<em>

_Why would her party celebrating the bonding through a contract interest me?  
>—SH<em>

_The same reason she asked me if you were coming.  
>—JW<em>

_And we both know what that is.  
>—JW<em>

Sherlock scowled and agitatedly responded.

_You must be drunk John. Go to Baker Street, rest, and talk to me when you're sober.  
>—SH<em>

_I'm not drunk and you're still an idiot.  
>—JW<em>

Sherlock sighed and tucked the mobile back into his pocket. The February air filled his lungs as the snow drifted into the greenhouse as it had done those years ago. The merry go round spun slowly round looking dejected and sad. The warmth was gone and now nothing was left but empty shells. They didn't deserve this, but here they were allowing the snow to seep into their core. The day had already proven to be trying on him and these reminders were too much for Sherlock to deal with at the moment. Carefully he shut every door and window. He took a final look around before shutting the lights and stepping through the hedges solemnly. Suddenly the chimes of Ben echoed through the trees. Sherlock looked behind him at the concealed doorway and drew a cigarette lighting it between his fingers. After taking a long drag he studied the doorway once more. This was the final step he had to take in order to shut her out, to prove he didn't care. This was the goodbye. He took a long drag before gazing at their sanctuary with sad eyes.

"Happy Valentine's Day Molly Hooper."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello there! Ge wiz it's been a while. I'm sorry for that. I kind of fell out of love with the story, but I just reread it and I know what I want to do. For everyone still with me, thanks a bunch. I'll try my best to not disappoint.**

**Notes: This takes place in the present day of 2016. The lapse between my last update and now is exactly how long it's been for them in the** **story**.

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><p>"They're not going to like this you know." Mycroft's grin deflated. Leave it to John to poke a hole in his plan, and here he thought that he'd support it. He would though, Mycroft could be very persuasive.<p>

"Why wouldn't they? You said so yourself Sherlock has been more, aggravated since that day. At the very least, wouldn't you want peace?" John laughed sardonically, and Mycroft was taken back, for a moment.

"It was never much peace to begin with."

"Yes, but all the same, it was much better than this." Mycroft gestured to the empty café. Speedy's used to be hailed as the epitome of eateries on Baker St. Well, Speedy's was the only food service available for service, but nevertheless people came. Especially with the famous consulting detective housed just above, people came. The time was not a quarter past two, and the place should have been bustling with the activity of late lunchers. Weather that day was fair for February, but not a soul dared to set foot inside.

"Is he home?"

John glowered.

"I'll take that as a yes then."

John sighed heavily, as if even that action of release was pressured. Turning his head to the ceiling where he could hear the angry grating of Sherlock's violin, John reflected on the events of the past two years.

Maybe he shouldn't have texted him that night. Ever since Molly's wedding, coming to 221 had been like walking blindfolded through a minefield. Sometimes he'd be lucky, and Sherlock would be relaxing as well as he could, complacent or charged with excitement from a case. On other instances, John didn't have to go further than the base of the stairs to be able to hear his friend's frustrations taken out on the flat. Sometimes he would go up and try to reason with him. Sherlock was being ridiculous after all, and they both knew it. However on particularly bad days, John would just leave. The first year was a nightmare of a headache to say the least. Even now with three feet of solid wood and metal between them, John could sense the familiar warning signs of a throbbing migraine about to descend. Usually, Sherlock wasn't like this. On bad days he'd be snappish and especially brutish when met with stupidity, which was a lot according to him. He had calmed down much from those first few months, but the anniversary was two days ago.

"This can't go on John."

John attempted sternness, but they both knew who was right. "I know. I know Mycroft, but he's not going to like you interfering, and what about Molly?"

"What about her?"

"How do you know that she wants a reconciliation as much as he does?" Mycroft quirked an eyebrow.

"No," John said, placing his palm flat on the table. Between the two of them his patience had worn quite thin. "Don't give me that look. What do you know?"

Mycroft sighed. "She doesn't love Tom."

"Yeah, so you've said. But how do you know that?"

"She told me."

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><p>Mycroft had to concede, he never thought he'd come into contact with Doctor Hooper again, but when her name turned up on the case file for one of Russia's agents they'd been tracking, he couldn't resist.<p>

"Well what an unexpected surprise," he said gliding into her lab. Molly briefly glanced at him before returning to her work. She seemed almost unsurprised.

Interesting.

"I must say Dr. Hooper," he continued, "you seem rather impassive today."

"Yes," she sighed. "It's been a rather slow day, but I assume you're here for him?" She pointed to the body of "Jamie Hollerand" with a bloodied scalpel. For a few moments he watched the widening puddle forming on his abdomen before clearing his throat.

"If you wouldn't mind," he said with a smile.

"Not at all," she responded just as primly, shoving over the autopsy report and discarding her glasses.

Mycroft half paid attention to them as he read her scrawl. "And how have you been Dr. Hooper?"

"It's not Hooper anymore."

"Yes, but you didn't seem to mind that slip up earlier." He looked up when she didn't respond. At the eye contact, she gritted her teeth.

"Well Mr. Holmes," she ground out.

Mycroft nodded. "And Tom," he asked, flipping to the next page.

"Alright, I guess." The tension seemed to seep out of her. A quick glance at her distant look spelt out resignation. Something was wrong.

"You seem a bit put out," he ventured. "I trust everything at home is running smoothly?" She became stone-faced then.

"No."

Well.

Mycroft gulped, discarding the clipboard to a nearby table. "Not happy?"

Molly smirked at his discomfort, and Mycroft felt the sudden urge to leave. "No," she mused. "I'm generally happy; when I'm here at least, or anywhere else."

"You sound as though you don't love him."

"I don't."

Oh. Mycroft, leaned in, pressing his palms against the cool metal of the table. People weren't normally so open with their emotions, and maybe he had caught her at a bad time, but he had to dig deeper while he still had the moment.

"So," he thought for a moment, "why are you still with him?"

"Because it's better than the alternative."

"And who would that be?"

"You know who."

He did.

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><p>The music stopped, and so did Mycroft. It was too quiet, too dangerous to continue, and when John implored him to finish he hoped his look communicated their vulnerability. He must have apparently, because John was now studying the ceiling too, searching for any cracks that would betray them. None were obvious, but even so he didn't want to risk it. Mycroft gave a tight smile and stood to leave.<p>

"I want to hear the rest of it, you know."

Mycroft paused and turned back to him. "Of course, but perhaps later when," he gestured to the oppressive silence, "we have more privacy."

John nodded.

"Right, but you do understand, Doctor, that this plan will be beneficial for everyone right?"

"I'm starting to, but remember who we're talking about," he said pointing to the ceiling.

"Yes, the wild card."

John snorted. "Understatement of the century."

Mycroft smiled briefly. "Well, hopefully when you finally see it as I do, you'll be able to help things run more smoothly."

John took a sip of his now cold coffee and grimaced. Pushing it to the side, he responded. "I'll try."

"Listen John, I know what both of you probably think, but I have his best in-"

"Yeah you have his best interests at hear," he smirked, and then smiled more genuinely. "I know."

Mycroft blinked, but nodded with a small smile of his own and left.

Oh boy.


End file.
